


This Masquerade

by MissPennyLane



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Sweet Home Alabama (2002)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But he gets better guys. I swear, Crossover, Divorce, Enjolras is kind of a dick, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage, Reunions, Romantic Comedy, Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, romcom, romcom crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6560047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPennyLane/pseuds/MissPennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Grantaire used to be crazy in love, but a rift in their relationship left Grantaire alone in New York City and Enjolras to sulk in Washington, D.C. But as Enjolras starts to fall for a handsome politician, he finds himself in need of a divorce from his estranged husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'Til Divorce Do We Part

**Author's Note:**

> I've always loved Sweet Home Alabama and honestly, Enj as Melanie and R as Jake just give me too many feels. So here ya go. Enjoy.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Those were the last words Enjolras ever spoke to his estranged husband. They had been so happy once. They had known each other since high school. When Enjolras got accepted to Columbia University, Grantaire decided to follow Enjolras to New York. It was a relief going to the big city after living in a small cajun town on the Louisiana bayou. The townsfolk had a tendency to get violent at the slightest sign of anything that differed from their normal ways of life. If they caught even the slightest whiff of homosexual tendencies, the town would go on a gay witch hunt. So, leaving that toxic environment for the more progressive and liberal New York City lifted a major weight off of both of their shoulders. 

Despite the fact that they had constantly butted heads throughout the entirety of the time they’d known each other, Enjolras and Grantaire started dating almost immediately. It was hot and heavy at first. Enjolras wasn’t sure if it was because they were both so relieved that they could finally be themselves in a place free of judgment, the fact that they only knew each other in the largest city either one of them had ever been in, or some combination of the two, but they rapidly fell head-over-heels for each other and decided to marry. 

Enjolras’ school load, extracurricular activities, and work schedule meant he had to be away from Grantaire most days. Grantaire decided to throw himself into the New York City art scene. It was then that their problems started. Enjolras would go days without seeing his husband. There were always late-night phone calls and secrets, and the ever-present bottle of wine.. He had always chosen to ignore Grantaire’s drinking, figuring it was all part of being a brooding artist.. “I have it under control, Apollo,” his paramour would mutter whenever Enjolras brought it up. But when the bottle or so of wine per day started to turn into two or three, Grantaire became more and more checked out of their relationship. 

Now, after four years of not speaking or seeing each other, Enjolras sat in a cab outside the home they had once shared together, the home where they had truly discovered who they were, and the home where they had fallen so quickly in love, clutching a manila envelope. Why the hell was he nervous? He’d spoken to thousands of people at various events for the civil rights foundation he worked for. He’d put out fires and soothed over angry mobs of people when the timing called for it. But this? This was pure hell. 

When the meter in the cab hit $30, Enjolras sighed and paid the man. There was no point in putting this off any longer. He waved to the doorman as he entered the building. Enjolras knew his name was still on the lease agreement. He got a phone call from the landlord every few months when Grantaire had mysteriously “forgotten” to pay the rent. It, technically, was Enjolras’ apartment despite the fact that he no longer lived there. He gave Grantaire the courtesy of knocking, and ringing the bell, and knocking again before he used the key he’d hidden away in case of emergencies. 

“Grantaire?” he called, looking around the seemingly empty apartment. The immediate smell of cigarette smoke and stale air almost choked him as he crossed the threshold into the small flat. At least it was moderately clean. Enjolras had half expected to find his former lover buried under the weight of his own filth, but the fact that he could see the floor and walk with ease through the living room was a pleasant surprise. Pieces of Grantaire’s art leaned casually against the walls, as though they were just waiting to be hung with pride on the wall. Enjolras moved closer to one stack and flipped through the canvases. Despite everything, he found himself smiling fondly as he looked at the work Grantaire had produced in the years they’ve been apart. He’d improved. Enjolras didn’t even think that was possible. He was so engrossed in a piece that featured various shades of green with one angry red slash ripping through the center of the canvas that he didn’t hear the door open behind him. 

“Enjolras?” the voice said with a mix of shock and disbelief. Enjolras nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized he wasn’t alone, and turned to see Grantaire staring at him with knitted brows. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“It’s still technically my apartment, after all,” he said with a shrug. Instead of answering, he held up the envelope in his hand. 

Grantaire scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You had to break into my house to bring me those? Haven’t you heard of calling first before dropping by?” 

“I did try. You didn’t answer the phone. Not like that surprised me at all,” Enjolras retorted. He pulled open the tab on the envelope and removed a stack of papers. “Please just sign the papers, Grantaire. I don’t understand why you’ve kept sending them back to me. But please. Let’s just end this and be done with it.” 

“You came all the way up here from D.C. to get me to sign the divorce papers? It must be important to get the oh-so-important Apollo down from Mount Olympus. Who’s the guy?”

Enjolras sighed heavily and rubbed his face. “It’s been four years, Grantaire. You can’t keep acting like a petulant child because you’re not getting what you want. I already added into the papers that you’ll get to keep the apartment. There’s a copy for you, a copy for me, and a copy for the lawyers. Please. Just sign them. I’ve already been billed for the three times you’ve sent these back to me.” 

“And you thought breaking into my house would be the best way to approach this kind of situation? You realize I can have you arrested, right?”

“For breaking into my own apartment? With my own key? Your name is not on the lease, Grantaire. Mine is. I’ve paid enough of your rent when you casually forget to pay it to keep you from getting thrown out of here. I get the right to keep my key and show up every so often.” 

“Funny, you didn’t seem to be in such a hurry two and a half years ago when I first sent the papers back. What’s the rush, Apollo?” 

“There is no rush. I just want this to be over and done with,” Enjolras snapped, obviously frustrated. 

A cool smile crossed Grantaire’s lips. “I’ll have to have my lawyers look these over. You could be taking me to the cleaners, for all I know.” 

“For what? Your unsold art? Yes, I’m sure I would be doing you a great disservice to unburden you from all the reminders of your many, many failures.” 

The words hung in the air, thick and tense. The smile Grantaire had been wearing barely faded, but the hurt was there, ever present on his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the ground. “There he is. My sweet, loving Apollo. How I’ve missed our chats,” Grantaire said, trying to keep the hurt from seeping into his voice. He snatched the envelope away from Enjolras. “I’m reading the papers over before I sign them.” 

“They’re the same as they were in August. Just sign the damned papers, Grantaire!” Enjolras practically shouted as the exacerbation with the situation began to take over him. 

“I didn’t read them in August. I’ll send them back to you in D.C. once I’ve finished reading them.” 

Enjolras was quiet for a moment as he stared intently at Grantaire. Somewhere deep down, he probably still loved his former partner. There was the part of him that wanted to take Grantaire into his arms like he used to after he’d say something hurtful out of anger or frustration, brush the curls from his face, and apologize. To promise that he’d never say anything so vicious ever again. But that was never the case. There was always another fight. There was always another hurtful dig. There was always that ever-present problem of fundamental difference between the two of them. “You know I didn’t mean that,” Enjolras said in a quiet voice. 

It was Grantaire’s turn to be quiet. “Yes, you did,” he replied, his voice thick. “You always do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t say things like that, would you?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Go back to D.C., Enjolras. I’ll sign the papers when I’ve read them. You’re just going to have to wait it out. Let’s hope that job of yours has taught you patience. We both know that was never one of your strengths.” 

“Please, Grantaire. We’ve dragged this out long enough. Don’t you want it to be done? I know I want to move on with my life. Don’t you want to move on with yours?” Enjolras sighed and headed for the door. “Sign the papers. If you have any questions, call my lawyer. If I don’t have the papers by the end of the month, I’ll be pursuing my other options.” He didn’t even wait for Grantaire’s response. Enjolras simply turned on his heel and left the apartment, letting the heavy door slam behind him.


	2. Whiskey is a Girl's Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine hates Enjolras and the shit he's pulling with Grantaire.

“Oh, fuck him,” Eponine said when Grantaire recounted his interaction with Enjolras earlier that afternoon. She leaned on her elbows against the bar and poured Grantaire another drink. She always knew just how to make him feel better. “I can’t believe he called those pieces in your apartment your failures. Doesn’t he know?” 

Grantaire snorted. “Enjolras has never been the sort who was good at seeing anything past the end of his nose,” he said with a shake of his head. He swirled the whiskey around in his glass, letting the chilled rocks cool the amber liquid. Despite the fact that Grantaire was rapidly gaining success in the New York art scene, Enjolras’ words hurt. “I’m sure I’d be doing you a great disservice to unburden you from all the reminders of your many, many failures.” They rung in his head and over the noise of the rowdy bar where Eponine worked. “Even if he did know, I’d still be a failure in his eyes. I always have been.” 

“That’s bullshit, and you’d better stop talking like that or I’m cutting you off,” Eponine scoffed. She was his best friend, and had been since he first moved from Louisiana with Enjolras. Eponine was the first person he had actually met in New York City that he truly liked. All of Enjolras’ friends were stuffy and too much like him. Sure, he had Bahorel back home, but the thought of burly Bahorel in the big, scary city and away from the bayou made Grantaire laugh. There was no way his oldest friend would ever leave Louisiana. So, he had to fill the void that behemoth of a man left in his life. Eponine was nothing like Bahorel by any stretch, but he still related to her. She was his rock, his everything. After Enjolras left, she kept him alive and taken care of. “You deserve better than that, amour.” 

“Eponine, I’m not paying you to lean against the bar and pour your friends free drinks!” her boss shouted from the other side of the bar. 

“You’re not paying me enough to not lean against the bar and pour my friends free drinks,” Eponine retorted, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, R. Just sign the papers and have him out of your life forever. You don’t need him.” 

But somehow, Grantaire wasn’t sure of that. He pursed his lips and stared intently at his drink. He loved Enjolras. He always had. It was heaven when they were finally given the opportunity to speak to each other for the first time. Grantaire’s mother had died suddenly just before he entered high school and his father made the decision to move the entire family back to the small bayou town in which he’d grown up. Grantaire first laid eyes on Enjolras in the very first assembly at his new school. It had been a few weeks into the new year and candidates for student body president were making their first speeches to the entirety of the school. Everyone, except for Enjolras, seemed to know that things like student government were merely a popularity contest. They were a reason for the already popular kids to retain their status above the trolls and losers they went to school with. Enjolras was the only one up there--and the only freshman up there, to boot--who actually had ideas to “change” the school and its policies. 

There was something magnetic about watching him speak, even at fourteen. He truly cared about wanting to better their school and incite change within their community. It was complete bullshit as far as Grantaire was concerned. Nothing ever changed for the better. But from that day, he couldn’t get Enjolras’ face or his voice out of his head. He dreamed about the blonde boy who possessed more passion in his little finger than Grantaire did in his entire body. He fantasized about how that passion would translate into intimacy and longed to feel Enjolras’ lips on his own as their bodies entwined and became one. 

He broke his distant gaze and shook his head. “Half of the time Enjolras doesn’t realize the shit he says and how they impact others. Especially now that he’s a fucking mouthpiece for some charitable institution. If I had a dollar for every time he’s said hurtful shit to or about me without realizing it, I’d be fucking rich. It’s just who he is.” 

“And that makes it okay? Just because he doesn’t realize it, does not make it okay, Grantaire. You need to sign those fucking papers. Or better yet, have a lawyer look over them and take his ass to court. You can use the things he’s said to you to get more money out of him.” 

“I don’t need any more money. I am going to take my time to read those papers, though. If he thinks he can just show up and scare me into signing them, he’s got another thing coming.” 

“That’s my girl,” Eponine said, pouring herself a drink and raising it to him. 

He smiled faintly and clinked his glass to hers. Grantaire took a long sip and sighed. He probably could get a lot more than just the apartment if he truly wanted to, but vengeance and spite were never really within Grantaire’s wheelhouse. “You know I’ll be fine. I just can’t believe he showed up at my fucking apartment like that.”

“Well, after the way you kept sending back those papers…”

“You were the one who fucking told me to send them back!” Grantaire exclaimed. 

“And it got you the apartment, didn’t it?” Eponine said with a grin. “You think I didn’t go through this same shit when Parnasse and I were breaking up? Please. He fights way dirtier than Enjolras does. Consider yourself lucky.” 

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, that’s me. Lucky R,” he said, finishing his drink. He reached into his wallet and put some money down on the bar. “So you don’t get fired. Again.” 

“Are you leaving already? I thought you were going to stay and keep me company!” Eponine pouted. 

“I need to go to the studio. I just want to paint. Get some pent-up aggression out before I read those papers. I’ll probably be there until you’re done here. Come over after?”

Eponine smiled. “Don’t I always?” She poured him another drink into a plastic cup. “Here. One for the road.” 

Grantaire shook his head and leaned across the bar to kiss Eponine’s cheek. “What would I do without you?” He scooped the cup up and headed out to the busy streets of the city, feeling overwhelmingly glad that his soon-to-be ex-husband was on his way out of town. The last thing he needed was to see him again before he was able to convince himself that continuing to love the man was a dangerous, and toxic, thing.


End file.
